AK's Two Hundred and Seventeenth...

(from 10/05, circa 8PM, on board the SC)

The quiet of the night...  Another lost draw chez Todd...  The inscrutable J. Gray... Awaiting now more ridiculousness with Thammer and his desire for "sealing"...

How I love his use of that expression.

Trying to get over the pain of loss in missing out on the Taj.  Next Winter, perhaps, in the deep dark cold.  Or this time next year.  Who can say, at this point?  It is a mystery.

For now, on the Southern Cross, waiting, and alas the lack of wind... But perhaps tomorrow... There are only so many days...

There is something about anniversaries, the temporal aspect of them. Being in the same place, the exact same physical location, yet at different "times".  And the birthday of one Alexander Keith always stands out as one of those markers.  How many other days do you have t-shirts for, that show in stark terms the years gone by?

So many days removed from 210.  And here now when you can see the past in front of you, the group of drunken guys in matching red shirts, different people, but doing the same as you did as you in your "younger days" (ah Wasaga beach) in a real sense.  In a way, the observations are akin to those of a time traveler who can't change the past...

We wait to see what will happen this night. The NSP consent received, miraculously, by BB at Stayner's. The boat tied up but floating sweetly, the extra Keith's in the ice box, and the CD of songs not taken. I would not have predicted this 3 hours or so of self-reflection, set alight by the Nicaragua . But have at it. There shall be more. Proper thing, baby, proper thing...

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(from 10/09, circa 1PM, overlooking the harbour from the more usual view)

A few days later, still reflecting on what did happen next after those words.  As the night rolled on to an at-first quiet bit of celebration on Treasure Isle before proceeding along the waterfront, and then an inspired turn toward the Guinness.  Yes, on perhaps the most glorious of AK celebrations of them all, once the clock struck midnight it was time for a return to Arthur's brew.  And how timely.  As if orchestrated in advance, there was the open table, the Trinidadian wingman, the Jordanian dancer, and some Hollis street foolishness before a wait outside Venus, a trip to the SC cabin and then short cab ride to the end of Barrington.  If you are confused...  ah me, oh my. 

In terms of the magic and randomness that is so treasured, a night and leisurely morning to live on in the memory.  The very opposite of boring, K.  Still sorting it all out after a predictably relaxing and enjoyable Thanksgiving back at 207, and following the flip of a coin for the timing of the call, etc.  Wondering where it might lead this week and next.  If it is sustainable.  And if the answer is no, as the killers sing, can I change your mind...  

Also thrown into the mix over the weekend is the confirmation of the return to London before the end of 2012, as foreseen, but without - at least to this point - having resolved anything in terms of having new folk at hand to stroll the Thames with.  But Old Trafford looks a go, and flirtations with Z should be interesting at least.  There is Guy Fawkes and the Election, plus the possibility of Limerick, and at least it provides a three week window or so to focus on organizing things and getting stuck into the treadmill and pool, etc. rather than the indulgence of summer. 

We shall see, of course.  The important thing is to look back on this post during future Oct. 5ths and smile and smile at such unexplainable good times.  With the benefit of a hindsight that has not yet been invented at that.  Not for the first time, I wonder...